


Atlas

by lobsterkaijin



Category: Dr. STONE (Anime), Dr. STONE (Manga)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 22:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobsterkaijin/pseuds/lobsterkaijin
Summary: It’s just him, stuck here, waiting. Waiting, and thinking.





	Atlas

A bright light. A cold sweat. _ Imprisonment. _ Shackled to the ground by the traitorous rigidity of a body severed from his thoughts at the atlas of his skull. Once it was instinct-driven, mighty, yielding to no man’s will, toppling the selfish whims of a society stacked brick by painstaking brick on the backs of a generation that was fed as fodder before it learned to utter a single word of defiance. Now the same body, powerless and cold, save for the stubborn thrum in his chest, legs a cinder block sinking to the bottom of an ocean of despair, laments its lack of direction and purpose as it’s crushed by the weight of the water. There is no heaven upon his shoulder, no celestial curse of which to honour, no horizon to seek, no future to behold.

It’s just him, stuck here, waiting. Waiting, and thinking.

What is Mirai doing now? What is she thinking? _ Is _ she thinking? Could someone like her, frail, sickly, innocent, survive the passage of time? Did she fade into a lull by a caressing wave? Did she, in a moment of lucidity, realize that death was upon her, and feel every second of her fall into nothing? Would she understand her own death? Would any of them?

When he lay in the sand, every breath fanning the flame of his extinguishment, bruised and broken and bloody, and the slurred hate of his assailant had long since faded from his consciousness, he was left with a dread diving to the dark of his heart. _ This is what death feels like, _ he thought at the time. Was death supposed to be so hot? Was it supposed to be so angry? The image of Mirai alone in her bed spurned him. He was able to carry the weight of his agony then, drag his feet, lift his hands, offer for her the shattered remains of what was supposed to be a gift. He’d held her then, and in his heart, liquid iron branded at the bottomless pit of his fury, he made a promise. _ They will pay. _

If this is death, it is unlike any he has experienced before. He watches rain drench in sheets. He watches trees wrap around trees. He watches beasts play in the streets, and he thinks to himself, this cannot be death, for it is unlike any he has experienced before.

So he is stuck here, waiting. Waiting, and thinking, and watching.

Without interference, the world resets itself. Tickling his nose, curious leaves extended outward from a friendly branch, bending under the weight of a chimp. Its bright eyes meet his, and it tilts its head, brushing a tiny paw along the side of his face. Thousands of kilometers under stone cold pressure, he does not feel it, but he likes to pretend he can. It is more caring and compassionate than any human hand that came before it, and warm, stifling that disease that has one again risen in his center, one of confusion, a calamity upon his waters. Will he ascend from the depths, will he shed this weight, will he reach out to hold the hand that shows him mercy, will he ever return it?

Does he know what mercy is? Certainly it was not taught to him. Yet he knows this to be true, that this kind creature, a stranger to him, is merciful. It swings a ways away, settles upon another statue, a garbled mess of a man twenty years his senior. The chimp senses something, and knocks the head clean off, screeching. Only when its mother rushes to hold it does it calm. Mercy was never taught to him, yet he knows that this is certainly mercy. 

He is not _ stuck _ here, waiting. He is _ meant _ to be here, waiting, and thinking, and watching, and connecting.

The climate cools, the weather regulates. Water, a pesticide, eliminates the undesirables, men and women whose time is at an end. The trees, a lumberjack, clear out the cracked leftovers of statues, where new life can begin again in the absence. The beasts, natural disasters, whose movements seem at random but whose movements are anything but, shatter those who imprisoned them. There is a pattern, one as evident as the storm thrashing about in his core, his heart a thermal vent releasing corrosive sulfur into his brain. Corrosive, like those careless, selfish, brazen adults, whose lives brought nothing but misery to the youth, to each other, to nature.

This was calculated. The earth knew what she was doing. The damage they’d done had to be corrected. The damage they’ve done must _ still _ be corrected. Every thought burns away a little more of his tether to humanity. The weight on his shoulders further buries him in the deep, but he is beginning to amass the strength to resist. 

He is finished here, waiting. Waiting, and thinking, and watching, and connecting, and planning.

He has been shown these things for a reason, he was _ meant _ to see these things. Arrogant and selfish, too big to fail, humanity unleashed a scourge of disease and destruction on the earth, thinking themselves mighty titans, thinking themselves gods. In one fell swoop, the earth re-established her power. _ There is none greater than me, _ she said, commanding nature in a devastating attack. _ You will pay. _

And now she was showing _ him _ her power. She’s laying upon him ambition. Wake up, young one, break free from this hell. You have a job to do. 

When a naked highschooler comes across him and marvels at his magnificence, the god at the bottom of the ocean rumbles, distant heart roaring to life, crushing the dread on his shoulder, breaking out of this imprisonment. Every muscle ruptures with the force of his rage. The chains snap, cinder blocks sink farther away, and his mind is free. 

The wicked and the lustful and the greedy would be purged. Technology must be staved. Humanity must not be allowed to rise again. The direction is clear, the purpose is meaningful. The ocean above him cannot hold him any longer. No one else could fulfill this task. This would be his curse to honour, his horizon to seek, his future to behold.

Tsukasa Shishio would be the one to bring forth heaven on earth.


End file.
